


words can only carry me so far

by Bork__Bork



Series: Words, phrases, voices [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Claude reframes gronder field because in-game ver was dumb, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Vulnerability, Half fluff half smut, M/M, Name kink Dima is canon now, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post Azure Moon Route, Riding, Slight Canon Divergence for Dimiclaude's sake, Tenderness, Whipped Cream, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bork__Bork/pseuds/Bork__Bork
Summary: Claude makes a surprise visit to Fhirdiad to see Dimitri for Christmas, and the two navigate the unsaid words and desires they have been carrying in their hearts for so long since they last met at Derdriu.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Words, phrases, voices [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590385
Comments: 15
Kudos: 127





	words can only carry me so far

**Author's Note:**

> You could read the summary, but all you really need to know is that this was all so I could write a whipped cream blowjob. Or tender feelings. Or both.
> 
> I'm @BorksAreBorks on tw.
> 
> This is only my second fic ever, so please kindly take that into consideration. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this! Dimiclaude is just so sweet and tender ughghg (Please give kudos and leave a comment, thank you!)
> 
> Edit: Added a little bit more internal thoughts, edited some of the smut.

Even though he is king, Dimitri could never grow accustomed to feasts and parties. It’s not that he dislikes having company, but how can he know for sure that his guests’ presences are not just out of formality and pretentiousness?

“Merry Christmas, Your Highness!” 

“Have a bite of this, Your Highness.”

“I bought this gift for you, Your Highness.”

“Oh, Your Highness! Let me introduce to you my daughter.”

“King Dimitri! I’m glad to see you’re in good health.”

Streams of honorifics pour out of the numerous nameless faces that surround him. At the end of the day, Dimitri is exhausted from his attempts to reciprocate their cheer. The least he can do is give his most sincere smile, always expressing gratitude for the many presents and offerings he’d receive that night. It is the polite thing to do, although, in the back of his head, he is already planning how he’ll divvy up the money earned from selling them to aid the slums.

Dimitri sighs as he manages to pull away from another man pressing him with questions about his next political maneuvers. Maintaining good relations with the other noble families is his responsibility, he knows that. But just for today, can they at least drop the honorifics? Perhaps it’s a pipe dream, especially now that he is the king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the king of the entirety of Fódlan. But what he’d give to go back to those days at the Officer’s Academy, when he was simply a classmate like the others?

At the very least, today is one of the few times of the year when he can freely receive the masses of the poor and the young orphans of Fódlan. These victims of his senselessness, his selfishness, his blindness during the war… Dimitri swears that he will help them by whatever means necessary. No longer should any child be torn from their parents, no longer should any man or woman be forced to live in abject poverty in those slums.

“Excuse me, Your High—Dimitri,” Dedue interrupts him as he waves good-bye to one of the orphans. Even after all these years, his loyal servant still has trouble referring to him simply by his first name. But, Dimitri is thankful that at least _he_ is one of the few people that correct themselves on the spot, Ashe being one of them.

“Yes, Dedue?”

“There is a group of… special guests that wish to meet you in the parlor upstairs. I think you have an idea of who I’m talking about.”

“You mean, _they_ are here? All of them?” Dimitri looks at Dedue with a gleam in his eyes. For the first time that night, his heart is beating with excitement. Finally, he can get away from the dignitaries and stuffiness of the stately celebration, away from being addressed as ‘Your Highness’ and ‘King Dimitri.’

Dimitri hurriedly excuses himself from the guests and rushes upstairs, Dedue following closely alongside him. He opens the door and is greeted with the aroma of rich spices and chamomile tea. A platter of various cookies, cakes, and other desserts decorate the table in the middle of the room, and a pile of gifts of diverse sizes and colors sits at its legs.

But nobody is there. 

At least, that’s what Dimitri thinks until he hears a few muffled giggles.

“Guys, we have to be quiet!” a small voice squeaks from behind a sofa.

“You idiots, he’s already here,” a sharp-tongued voice scolds hushedly.

“Gah, well, here goes. One, two, three…”

“Merry Christmas, Dimitri!” And at that moment, seven faces pop up from the sofa.

Felix, Ashe, Sylvain, Mercedes, Annette, Ingrid, and…

Byleth.

“You guys… and Professor! I-I mean, Your Excellency,” Dimitri immediately corrects himself. It has only been a few months since his ascent to the throne and Byleth’s coronation, and Dimitri often forgets that the man he once called Professor is now Archbishop. His teacher, his advisor, his savior… and his dearest friend, all the same. And now he is standing before him, just like the rest of his former housemates.

“Dimitri, there’s no need for formality. You can call me Byleth, or even Professor if you wish to continue doing so.”

Dimitri scratches behind his head, embarrassed, and they all chuckle. Then he walks over to the group, shaking hands and even embracing a few of them. 

“I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am to see all of you again. Who planned all of this?”

His friends’ heads turn to each other, giggling and whispering into each other’s ears.

“It’s a secret,” Sylvain finally speaks up, winking. “You’ll find out soon enough, so no need to worry. Anyways, who’s ready to get this party started!”

The rest of the group cheer, and so begins their celebration. The secrecy of the mysterious host’s identity nags Dimitri, but he tries to shove it to the back of his mind and let himself enjoy the rare presence of all of his dear friends gathered for the occasion.

It is a humble, but joyous celebration. His friends all give each other Christmas presents, with Dimitri receiving a beautiful pair of leather riding boots from Ingrid and a long-sought-after sword from Felix.

“Here. This is for you. Don’t break it, or else,” Felix glares at him as he hands him a Sword of Zoltan, but with less snarl or coldness than usual.

Annette and Mercedes gather everyone to join together in singing carols, and everyone feasts on the delicious desserts they have prepared while reminiscing over their time at the academy with the Professor. Dimitri bites into the various sweet buns and tarts, lingering onto each of their aromas as long as he can. Occasionally, he thinks there is the slightest tang of sweetness, and he savors it as if it were his last, even if it could just be his imagination.

There have been many attempts to restore his sense of taste, but no matter how many doctors and healers he sees, they all come to the same conclusion: they simply don’t know how to help him. It doesn’t bother Dimitri nearly as much as it used to when he was younger, but, if only he could truly relish the flavor of one bite… just _one_ bite. If only he could truly appreciate the work Dedue and Mercedes put into their cooking and not just give a cordial nod or false praises… 

Dimitri shakes his head. It is best that he not ponder too much on such lofty desires. For now, he should just appreciate this special night with everyone.

The party wraps up before midnight, with his friends parting ways to retire to their guest rooms for the night. Byleth says farewell to everyone as he prepares to head back to Garreg Mach, but not before having some last few words with Dimitri.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay the night any longer,” Byleth apologizes as he embraces him.

“No,” Dimitri shakes his head. “I understand. Just seeing you for a couple of hours is more than enough. I appreciate you coming all the way out here just for Christmas. Perhaps I’ll visit the monastery on New Years and pay my respects to the Goddess?”

“As long as it isn’t too much trouble for you,” Byleth smiles warmly. “I hope to see you soon, Dimitri.”

Byleth pats his shoulder and turns towards the stairs but not before giving one last remark.

“There’s a surprise waiting for you in your room. Might be related to that secret we’ve been holding from you.”

He waves goodbye and descends the stairs before Dimitri gets a chance to ask what his cryptic message means. A surprise? Who? Then, a thought crosses his mind.

Could it be _him?_

Dimitri’s heart leaps at the possibility. Numerous questions and thoughts bubble up at the prospect of him being there, but one name resounds clear in his mind as he dashes towards his chambers.

_Claude. Claude von Riegan._

Soft lips, warm embraces, gentle pats on his head, restful nights—Claude’s very existence in his life was completely unexpected. What started out as playful encounters and quick-witted remarks became long conversations over tea and sneaking glances at each other during meals… and then their first kisses. Slow, tender, sweet kisses under the night sky in the Goddess Tower.

But it never got past that. Perhaps if they were born in another time, another place, another status, then they would’ve been closer together, maybe even married by now. But they both knew that what they had was a political nightmare, a relationship waiting to be torn apart as soon as they left the academy unless one of them surrendered their ambitions to the other.

Neither of them was willing to do so.

Putting a label on their relationship, solidifying it, even confessing to each other ‘I love you’ was too risky, and by the time Dimitri discovered the Flame Emperor’s identity, it was too late. It was only years later, when Claude reached out to him after Dimitri’s return to the land of the living, did the two rekindle their relationship. 

At first, they were only able to send heartfelt letters, drenched with words of regret, affection, and yearning. And then, they met at Derdriu. It took five long years before the two finally saw each other in person again. Not as enemies like at Gronder Field, but as allies—no, _lovers._ It was as if they were young teenagers back at the Officer’s Academy again, infatuated with each other. The things they did that night, Dimitri shuddered at the thought of it.

Maybe Dimitri could’ve settled down there after the war, or maybe Claude could’ve come home to Fhirdiad with him. But instead, he abdicated his position as leader of the Leicester Alliance and left for Almyra, leaving behind the Alliance territories in Dimitri’s hands.

_“Let’s promise to meet again, and when we do, don’t be too hard on me, Your Kingliness.”_

Claude is going to be in for a lot of trouble.

Dimitri bursts open the bedroom door, expecting to see Claude beaming at the sight of him with his roguishly handsome smile, but instead, he finds himself whirling around, scanning his room for that easygoing schemer. He is nowhere to be found. 

Dimitri gritted his teeth. Did the Professor lie? No, he would never lie about something like that. In fact, he never actually said that Claude would be here. It was all just his own wishful thinking; what a fool he was, getting his hopes up. Claude was still in Almyra, working furiously towards his own goals. Likely, all he did was send a message to Dimitri’s friends and got them to throw a party for him—a nice sentiment for the holidays. 

At most, there was probably just a wax-sealed letter waiting for him by his desk. Dimitri walked somberly towards it, having his hopes crushed as quickly as they were formed.

“Hey, Dima.”

Dimitri froze. Only one person ever calls him by that name. He whips around, and he finds himself facing _him._ Gilded and glittering in garments that reflect a different culture, a different craftsmanship than the Alliance’s, his jade-green eyes glowing in the dim lighting like a cat’s, his earnest smile truly reaching those eyes, his presence leaping out of his memories and into real life—Dimitri feels ensnared by the man, gaping at him until he notices his lips begin to move.

“They don’t celebrate Christmas in Almyra, so it kinda feels weird saying this but… Merry Christmas, Dima.”

Dimitri swears he can feel his knees start to buckle at the sight of him. 

_Dima._

How long has it been since he last heard that name uttered by that honey-sweet voice? How many nights has he spent reading and rereading that name swirled around in ink in their letters, trying to imagine that voice whispering it softly in his ear, declaring his devotion to him, _moaning_ it out of ecstasy? He rushes into the brunette’s arms before he can even consider the possibility that it is only an illusion, a figment of his deepest desires, speaking to him.

“Claude! W-What are you doing here? How did you… I… _Goddess,_ Claude, I missed you so much… so much…” Dimitri breaks down in Claude’s embrace, gripping his clothes tightly and taking in his scent. He’s real. He’s really here.

“I missed you too, Dima,” Claude coos gently into his ear as the king sniffles in his arms. The two linger in place for an eternity, the sounds of quiet breathing and crackling of fire surrounding them in comfort until Claude notices the faintest image of the Blaiddyd crest flicker in the air.

“Ngh, Dimitri, you’re squeezing me a little too hard,” Claude urges, patting his back.

“Sorry!” Dimitri reflexively pulls back, but not too far back. The two gaze into each other’s eyes as Dimitri caresses Claude’s cheek, and the brunette runs his hands through the blonde hair.

“You brought my friends together for me?”

“Of course. I sent a message to Dedue a couple weeks ago. I thought you needed some relaxation, and what kind of party would it be if I didn’t plan it? Better yet, a surprise party,” Claude winks.

“But how come you’re here? What about Almyra? I thought you were busy with reclaiming your title as the true king.”

“Well, yes, but I promised that I’d meet you again, didn’t I? So, here I am. It’s not that hard for a master tactician like me to slip away for a short while,” Claude flicks Dimitri’s forehead, and the two giggle. “That doesn’t mean I’m abandoning my dream, though, if that’s what you think.”

Dimitri glances away and chews the inside of his gums. Of course, he knows that wasn’t going to be a possibility. They’ve discussed the matter many times in writing, and any sort of compromise between their two ambitions continues to elude them. He is King of Faerghus; Claude is King of Almyra. This is simply the way things are, Dimitri recognizes that, but he sighs dejectedly.

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down like that… Um…” Claude bites his lips. “A-Anyways, I’m gonna hang around here for a week and a half before I head back. I was thinking of visiting Teach and the others in the meanwhile. Just the two of us, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. I was actually thinking of seeing him on New Years,” Dimitri grins, clearing his head from the previous uneasiness.

“Good, then it’s a date,” Claude winks, then he brings his face in close for a light peck on the lips. He pulls back with a roguish smirk, and with that, Dimitri snaps. He grabs his head, holding it exactly where he wants it, and plunges into Claude’s mouth with a moan. Claude chuckles into his mouth and reciprocates his neediness by bringing their hips dangerously close, feeling heat churning down below.

“Ngh, _Dima,_ b-before I forget, I have a treat for you,” Claude emerges from their kiss, breathless.

“Yes, my beloved?” Dimitri asks, slightly dejected by the abrupt pause.

Claude spins around and ruffles through a large bag sitting in the corner of his room. He pulls out a small basket covered with a lace cloth, and Dimitri can smell an intense aroma emanating from it.

“I thought about a lot of different gifts I could have brought from Almyra for you, but in the end, I ended up deciding on this.” Claude uncovers the basket, revealing…

“Cookies?” Dimitri asks, almost accusatory, as he tries to comprehend the various reasons why Claude would bring a basket of cookies of all things from Almyra.

“Yep, but not just any cookies. I had Mercedes, Ashe, Dedue, Annette, _and_ Gilbert all help me with making this special batch, just for you. I used some special Almyran spices and ingredients, and I think you’ll enjoy them. Of course, I have other gifts for you, but for now, why don’t you give these a taste?”

Dimitri gives his usual cordial nod and picks up a cookie from the basket. It looks rather normal, just a simple, round, golden-brown cookie. Claude _should_ know that he doesn’t have a sense of taste, right? He remembers admitting it to him over tea once when they were at Garreg Mach, and even if he didn’t, he’s sure that Claude would’ve figured out by now. 

But, regardless, now isn’t the time to worry about such things. If it pleases Claude, then he should accept the gift as best as he can. His friends have worked hard on it, after all.

He glances up at Claude, who’s intently gazing at him, and takes a bite. It tastes sweet, and Dimitri can tell that the spices used are very distinct from the kind he smells in Faerghus cooking.

Wait. It tastes sweet.

“Well, do you like it?”

It can’t be, it’s impossible, it must be an illusion, a trick of sorts… a myriad of thoughts flood Dimitri’s mind. But cutting through it all is one clear fact—he can taste the cookie. It’s not like Flayn’s cooking where he can briefly detect one, overpowering flavor, but instead, he can taste a complex blend of flavors with _depth._ Sweet, but with a slightly bitter edge to it. Rich in spice and zest, but with a tingling hot pain on his tongue that he has only read about in books or seen reflected in his companion’s faces occasionally.

Dimitri can’t help but take another bite, and another, and he quickly devours the entire cookie in one gulp. He looks down at the basket, enthusiastically reaching for another cookie as if he were a kid again. Claude only laughs and happily hands him another cookie. 

After eating about five of them, the blonde king feels tears welling up and heat flushing in his cheeks. Whether it’s due to the spiciness of the cookies, or the overwhelming sense of taste which he has lost for ages, or how grateful he is for Claude, Dimitri finds himself burying his face into the Almyran’s shoulders, swallowing the last bits of the treat as tears stream down his face. 

“I… I can’t… I can’t even… h-how…” Dimitri sniffles. “No, no, I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this, Claude. Glenn, my father, my closest friends… Losing my ability to taste was part of the price I had to pay in order to appease the souls of those who I let die, even if ever so slightly. I don’t deserve to be able to taste again, I _shouldn’t_ be able to taste again. Claude, I—”

“Dima,” Claude interrupts him, dropping the basket to the floor and clutching his back. “It’s not a matter of whether or not you deserve it. Your sense of taste was not sacrificed for those who died at the Tragedy of Duscur. You lost it because you _believed_ that you had to in order to still the screams that haunt you. You lost it because you _believed_ that it wasn’t fair for _them_ to be dead and be unable to enjoy the pleasures of life while _you_ survived. Look at me, Dimitri.”

Claude clutches Dimitri’s shoulders, gazing into his watery, bloodshot eyes.

“The living and the dead may cling on to us without any regard for our own lives, but it’s up to us to break free of that weight. I told you this back at Derdriu, remember? However, this doesn’t mean your sense of taste has come back in its entirety, but only that you haven’t _completely_ lost it. I’m sorry, Dima. I’ve scoured countless medical texts in Almyra, but I have yet to find an exact cure for it. However, what I _did_ discover is that if you vary your diet in taste, color, and texture and use aromatic herbs and hot spices, you can still draw forth some sense of taste,” Claude breathes as he wipes away the last tears trickling down from Dimitri’s face. “I’m glad you enjoyed my gift.”

“Claude, I…” Dimitri says softly, grasping Claude’s hand. Is it okay for him to accept this gift? Has he reconciled with the dead, broken free from their chains? He gazes into the two jade-green jewels glimmering before him, and in them, he sees his reflection gazing back. In those eyes, is the man he sees worthy of such a freedom? Perhaps so. But in a flash, a cry from his past latches onto his soul, gripping around it in a vise. 

Is he allowed to enjoy this gift? It asks. Allowed to savor in food the dead will never be able to taste? No, no, no, no… The cries multiply in his head, and they pierce into him. They demand that he apologize to them, rescind his gratitude, return the taste to _them._ He has overstepped the boundaries, and now he’ll have to pay the price: with his blood-drenched hands, he’ll grip his spear and pile up another twenty corpses.

But… the hand Dimitri is grasping now—Claude’s hand—it’s kind and warm… capable of ending a person’s life with a pluck of the string but also carving tender words of ink into paper. Is he not capable of the same? Holding it, a faint, sweet voice tells him that he is. The cries soften, and the grip on his soul loosens.

“T-Thank you, Claude,” Dimitri says shakily. “Thank you, thank you so much. I’ll be eternally grateful for this. This is the best gift I’ve—no, this is more than I could ever _dream_ of. How could I possibly ever repay you?”

“Repay me? For what? I love you, Dima. With everything I am. There is no give or take, there is no debt that needs to be paid. Just seeing you happy like this is more than enough for me,” he smiles. 

Dimitri’s breath hitches as Claude’s fingers ruffle his hair. It’s a small gesture of affection from Claude, but for the blonde king, it means everything to him. Dimitri can scarcely recall a fleeting memory of his past, before the Tragedy. A similar gentle hand ruffling his hair, the timbre of his father’s voice, a smile from above. When was the last time he experienced such earnest, _unconditional_ love? Not a jest of fraternity from the likes of Glenn or Sylvain, but a sign of pure tenderness.

_“I love you, Dima.”_

Five years ago, those words would have been blasphemous. He was the crown prince of Faerghus; Claude was the heir of the Leicester Alliance. It was an unspoken agreement that confessing such words would be detrimental to their relationship and to their goals. On that night at the Goddess Tower, those words died on their tongues before either of them could verbalize them.

But now, there are no inhibitions between them. King of Fódlan and King of Almyra—the two of them are sure to tear down the walls that separate the two countries, spreading peace beyond their borders. No matter what paths they may choose to take, they will never diverge or trample on each other. Instead, they’ll always intersect—in letters, at Derdriu, and now, here in Fhirdiad, his home. It’s thanks to Claude that they are able to forge this new future for the world.

And now, Dimitri wants nothing more but to hear those words of devotion and of his diminutive, reserved only for Claude’s lips, crying out into the hallways with affection and bliss. He wants to let the world know that Claude, heir to the Almyran throne and his beloved, is here, and he is _his_ alone.

“I love you too, Claude. I’m sorry that I… well… I still feel like I should give you something in return,” Dimitri admits as he kisses the back of Claude’s hand. “At least, for my own sake.”

“Hmm. Well, if you’re _really_ insistent on repaying me, there’s something I’ve been missing ever since Derdriu,” Claude’s voice drops down into a husky range that makes Dimitri shiver. “You remember what we did, right?”

“Y-yes,” Dimitri whispers shakily.

How could he possibly forget? That night was the first of many things for both of them, a whirlwind of sexual pleasure and ecstasy. It was beyond anything he could have ever fantasized about, and just a brief mention of it is enough to send chills down Dimitri’s spine.

“How about you give me a good time then, eh?”

Claude flashes a roguish grin before closing the gap in between them. He swipes at Dimitri’s lips with his tongue, parting them and kissing him slightly. Dimitri, initially taken aback by the sudden move, rumbles in response and darts his tongue forwards, swirling around Claude’s. The two share passionate open-mouthed kisses, savoring the spice and sweetness that lingers from the cookies as they roam their hands up and down each other’s backs. 

Dimitri moves down, kissing along Claude’s neatly-trimmed jawline, then nibbling on his earlobe and licking it away. Claude gasps as the blonde king dives down to plant kisses down the crag of his Adam’s apple, dragging his tongue across the slope of his neck, and then biting into the sensitive flesh, sucking at it. 

Dimitri pulls away to look at the mark he made—a purple blotch blooming above his collar, where everyone can see. _There._ Now, nothing can refute Claude’s presence in the castle, his stay here in his room, the events that will take place tonight, the fact that he belongs to him. It’s a mark that highlights reality, that Claude is truly here in his arms.

Claude reflexively reaches up to rub his fingers along the hickey, and for a second Dimitri is worried that he made the wrong move. But the brunette only grins.

“You’ve missed me that much, hm, Dima?”

Dimitri opens his mouth to respond, but a hitched moan parts his lips instead as Claude swoops in to reciprocate his possessiveness. He drags his tongue across the expanse of his neck as if scanning for the perfect spot to place a mark. He decides on a particular spot right below his ear and bites into the flesh, just like Dimitri did, sucking on it until the same bruised blemish appears before him. He pulls away, and the two admire each other’s brand impressed onto their necks. They’re linked now. Nothing: no title, no distance, no barrier can separate them, not anymore.

Dimitri pulls Claude close to give one more kiss on the lips before pulling away, leaving him to whimper in response. Then, in one swift motion, he sweeps the Almyran off his legs and into his arms, carrying him as steady as he can as if he is his only treasure.

“Well, aren’t you smooth, Dimitri? Better not drop me or else you’ll be in for a harsh punishment,” Claude teases.

Dimitri blushes and glances away. “I-I’ve always wanted to do this with you.”

“What, the carrying-me-bridal-style part? Or the giving-me-a-hickey part? Or the fucking-me-senseless part which will come later?” Claude quips with a devilish grin.

Dimitri’s steel-blue eyes pierce into Claude at the utterance of those words, and he growls, “All of it.”

Dimitri carries him towards the bed and practically tosses him onto it. Claude bounces in it with a yelp as the king pounces on top of him. He tears off their boots and socks before pausing to look at the beautiful mess splayed out in display underneath him. A carefully trimmed beard blooming on the edges of his jawline, a long strand of hair clinging to his eyelashes, a pair of hooded eyes blazing with desire—they are all his and his alone to enjoy. He shudders in anticipation of what they’ll do next.

Derdriu was only six months ago, but they were a long six months. His memories of that night and the occasional filthy words they’d exchange over letters were all he had of Claude to fantasize about. He had envisioned him panting Dimitri’s name in a mantra, arching under his control, urging his hips forwards with each thrust into his ass. Of course, the opposite scenario was just as tantalizing, having his neck grasped by Claude as he fucked him into a submissive, mewling mess. Several fantasies played out in his mind each night, but they all ended with him climaxing to the thought of Claude moaning out _‘Dima,’_ reverent and drawn-out. _Goddess,_ it has been far too long since their last encounter. 

“Hey, Dima,” Claude interrupts his train of thought. “I have one more treat I want to give you. Kinda excited to see how you’ll use it.”

With a mischievous grin on his face, he pulls out a small container from his coat. He removes the lid, revealing a white, fluffy substance with a faint sweet scent.

“What is it?” Dimitri tilts his head.

“I… may have snagged it from Dedue when he wasn’t looking, but I’ll return it tomorrow,” Claude promises, but his easy smile hints that it may not be a sincere one. “It’s whipped cream.”

Dimitri sighs and shakes his head. What kind of man did he fall in love with, having one scheme after the next, even while doing something as vulgar as… this? But, he abandons his apprehension and takes a dollop with his finger. He inspects it, then gives it a lick. There’s a cool sensation, and its foamy texture melts on his tongue with pleasantness.

But its taste is empty. 

Dimitri frowns at the flavorless froth on his fingers. It’s likely sweet, but his lack of sense of taste still prevents him from knowing for sure. Again, he isn’t sure what Claude’s intention is with this treat. If it isn’t meant for him to taste, then what is it for? A number of possible uses run through his head, but in the end, he concedes defeat. He looks at the brunette for help and finds himself greeted with pleading, glistening eyes. Then, it hits him.

 _“You_ want this, don’t you?” Dimitri asks.

“Guilty as charged,” Claude grins happily, and he grasps Dimitri’s hand, guiding it towards his face. He takes in the cream-coated finger into his warm mouth with a moan, sucking in the sweet froth. He bobs his head around Dimitri’s calloused finger and licks it up and down before letting it slip out with a pop of his lips. He gently kisses the back of Dimitri’s hand and looks up at Dimitri, grinning.

“Did that spark any ideas, my dear?” Claude teases with a glimmer in his eyes.

Dimitri shudders at the sight of him, and he feels something twitch down below. He can’t help but shamelessly imagine his length instead of his finger being sucked and worshiped by that pretty mouth… 

_Oh._

Claude _wants_ to suck and worship his member with his sultry mouth, embellished with whipped cream. That sly deer… he has him in the palm of his hand, doesn’t he? But as long as it’s Claude’s palm, then Dimitri is happy to oblige in his desires.

The blonde scrambles to undress himself, fumbling at the fine fabrics, the ornate brocade, and the numerous buttons and knots that feel even more constraining than usual. He can feel Claude’s observant eyes hungrily taking in the feast before him, and it only makes his hands quiver even more out of restlessness.

Finally, Dimitri tears off his undershirt and pants, exposing the battle scars and strong sinew of a warrior. All that remains is his trousers, and he lets Claude unlace them. He gasps at the sensation of delicate hands working closely around the heat pooling underneath, and when the Almyran finally slips them off, his cock springs up, its head smeared with precum.

 _“Goodness,_ Dima. I missed this for so long,” Claude breathes as he let his hands glide across the ripples on his pale body, feeling the firm muscle underneath. “And, I missed _this,_ too.”

Dimitri groans as Claude wraps his hands around his cock, and he snaps his hips forwards instinctively.

“Heh. You’re still just as sensitive as I remember,” Claude remarks as he strokes the blonde’s impressive girth with a firm grip. _“And,_ you’re just as big as I remember.”

“Ngh, _fuck, Clauuude,”_ Dimitri lets out a drawl, almost faltering at the vulgarity of his remark. The hazy memories from their night at Derdriu begin to bloom in his mind, becoming sharper and more vivid as they begin to intermingle with reality. He arches into the archer’s calloused hands, and soon, his cock reaches its full size. Claude takes note and dips his fingers into the container, scooping up a sizeable amount of the white substance. He puts the lid back on and brushes it off the bed.

“How do you want me to use this, hm, Dima?”

“H-here,” Dimitri shudders at the soothing roll of his name.

“Where? You have to be more specific,” the tactician taunts.

Dimitri grits his teeth. Fantasizing about it is one thing, but _saying_ it out loud is another. Those kinds of words are filthy, vulgar—only to stay locked up in his mind or stealthily written in small print in their letters. But Claude is relentless, and Dimitri knows that unless he utters those words, neither of them will be able to have what they want.

“My… my cock,” Dimitri mutters, wincing at the obscenity of the word.

“And what do you want me to do with your cock?” Claude asks, unperturbed by the ease with which those perverse words roll off his tongue.

 _“Claude,_ just… just take me,” he pleads, urging his hips forwards.

“Hm? I didn’t hear a ‘please.’ I thought you were more polite than that, Dimitri.”

 _“Please,_ Claude. I… I… _Goddess,_ I want you to wrap your mouth around me, _please,”_ Dimitri whimpers, surprised at the tremor of his own neediness.

And with that, Claude is satisfied with Dimitri’s begging. He slathers the whipped cream around his cock, and Dimitri shudders at the cool sensation sinking in. The king shuffles closer to Claude’s mouth, his breaths becoming labored out of anticipation. Claude looks up at Dimitri with a wolfish grin, and he instantly devours him.

 _“Ahhhh… Goddess, fuck._ Claude. _Claude. Clauuude,”_ Dimitri chants. He grips the brunette’s curls tightly as he is enveloped in velvet warmth. He _wants_ to plunge his cock deep into that warm cavern, but Claude grips the blonde’s hips and holds them still, leaving his mouth to do all the work. 

He bobs his head around the girthy treat before him, enjoying the marshmallow-sweet texture accompanying it. Each time Dimitri’s cock enters his mouth, he sucks just a little bit deeper, pushing himself to reach the next bit of that frothy sweetness. Dimitri moans at the sight of his cock disappearing into Claude’s mouth, and he begins to see sparks of white flash in his eyes. 

_“S-Shit,_ I thought this was meant to be a treat for me,” Dimitri says with a strain in his voice. Claude chuckles around his length, and he throws his head back with a powerful roar in response to the reverberations around his cock. 

“It _is_ a treat for you… just not the kind that you’d eat,” Claude quips, pulling away for a quick breath before diving in again to lick at the base. He looks up at Dimitri with jade-green eyes, blazing with lust, and his glistening red lips brush up against the weight, hot and heavy on his tongue. 

Dimitri curses under his breath at the sight of him and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s too much for him to bear watching—the cunning, quick-witted, devious Claude von Riegan caught in his snares, being forced to _worship_ his cock. Or is Dimitri the one that’s caught in _his_ snares? Either way is sublime.

Claude continues to alternate between plunging his mouth around Dimitri’s cock and licking up its length, lapping up the last remnants of the whipped cream. He kisses its head, swirling around it with his tongue and drawing out more precum. Each suction is another drawn-out moan from above, and it drives him mad with the desire to engulf Dimitri with increased fervor.

 _“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Claude, Clauuuude!”_ Dimitri cries out. He starts slowly thrusting into Claude’s mouth, not caring for the obscene noises emanating from him. Pleasure burns and churns within him more and more intensely as he plunges his cock again and again into the slick warmth. An intense pressure rapidly begins building up in his balls, and he pats Claude’s shoulder, signaling his encroaching release. Claude nods and withdraws his hot, slick cavern from him. But he doesn’t open his mouth, slack-jawed and tongue hanging out in expectancy for his hot seed like he did at Derdriu. Instead, he pushes him away and grabs his hands, preventing him from releasing.

 _“Clauuuuude!”_ Dimitri wails. “Goddess, _why?_ I was gonna—”

“You don’t want this night to end just yet, do you?” Claude interrupts his complaint, his voice rough and hoarse from Dimitri’s cock. “Come now, there's a much better use of that blessing of yours.”

He pulls him down close for a kiss, letting tongue fight against tongue as they try to plunge into the other’s mouth. Claude succeeds, and he swirls around in Dimitri’s mouth, sharing the last bits of whipped sweetness. Then, he slithers out from underneath Dimitri and flips himself on top, straddling him in between his legs. He deliberately takes his clothing off, piece by piece, letting the ornate Almyran garments slip to the floor. 

Of course, Dimitri takes in the exhibition before him attentively.

This isn’t the first time he has seen Claude like this. There are his memories of his time at Garreg Mach, sneaking glances at the archer in the sauna or in the changing rooms. But, those flickering images from five years ago pale in comparison to the Claude he knows now.

He’s still just as beautiful, but now he has a more rugged accent to him. Hair sprouts forth in places that were previously bare. Battle scars decorate his milk-chai skin with pale gashes—not marks of sins like Dimtri’s scars, but medals of bravery and prowess. His muscles undulate with the sinew of a skilled archer’s back and arms and chiseled thighs of a wyvern rider, and a long line of hair creeps down to a place protruding with desire and heat that Dimitri’s eyes try desperately not to follow.

The exhibition ends with Claude tossing away his trousers, and he sits back on his heels with a vial of oil in his hands. Dimitri can feel his member twitch at the sight of it, anticipating where he’ll slick up.

“Tell me, Dima. What did we do at Derdriu? And I want you to describe _everything_ in perfect detail,” he rumbles.

It’s a tantalizing question, one that draws forth steamy memories and moans of ecstasy. The various things they did that night swirl around in Dimitri’s mind. It’s hard to isolate them into specific events. Rather, they blend together into a concoction, an aphrodisiac, only to be taken in small doses. Attempting to relieve them all in minute detail is a challenge—no, a danger that Dimitri would never have dared to confront. But at the same time, he is compelled to fulfill Claude’s orders the best he can.

“Well,” Dimitri says slowly. “We started out with passionate kisses, and then I… I blew you.”

“You blew me?” Claude repeats back, raising his eyebrows as if he is in disbelief.

“No, I… I _devoured_ you, Claude. I let you… fuck my face until I was a sobbing mess as you came into my throat,” Dimitri gasps, partly at the obscene filth that just parted his lips, and partly at the awakening of those memories. “Then I turned you around and…”

“And?” Claude is smirking by now.

“I entered in you. I fucked you—no, I-I _ravaged_ you. I wanted you to feel how I felt when you abused my face. I remember you digging nails into my back so hard that you drew blood,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “And then you flipped me over and rode me with such skill that we… we both climaxed together. I thought we would be finished, but…” 

“But?” Claude cocks his head as he begins to stroke the two of them with his hands.

“I-It wasn’t over,” Dimitri whimpers shakily, grinding his hips into Claude’s hand. “You took me into your mouth and I came a second time, and then you slid your cock into me. You made me lower myself onto you. _Goddess,_ Claude, we did so many things that night I can’t even fathom how to express them all—”

“We _drowned_ ourselves in pleasure, Dima,” Claude growls, his eyes glazed over with lust. “We were beasts at a banquet, trying to devour as much as we could in one session. But tonight, that will not be the case. We have time: tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that…”

Claude uncorks the vial, pouring the oil over his fingers. “Fuck, or be fucked. Ridden, or be ridden. What will it be for tonight, Dimitri?”

Dimitri’s breathing quivers. How can he possibly pick just one? He is ravenous at the idea of doing them _all,_ but if he has to choose… No. He can’t. One is just as tantalizing as the other, and, at this point, Dimitri doesn’t care what they do. As long as he is allowed to relieve himself, hear Claude moan his name, then he is satisfied.

“No response, hm? Well, then.” He wraps his fingers around Dimitri’s cock and begins to slick him up. “I guess I’ll just have to decide for you.”

Claude deftly strokes Dimitri’s member, drawing out gasps and groans from him. The slick grip on him is just too sublime, too exceptional. He shudders as he rocks his hips into Claude’s hand, mewling with each thrust. Claude chuckles at the sight of his impatience and indulges him for a short while before moving his hand away.

“Eager, aren’t you? Not that I can blame you,” he teases, and Dimitri whimpers in response, watching Claude raise himself and slip a hand in between his legs, inserting one slick finger into himself. The sight fans at his burning desire, but Dimitri grips the bedsheets, trying to smother it. He has to be patient, he can’t rush him.

Claude groans, and Dimitri can only grit his teeth as he watches him slide another finger into himself, then a third, stretching and opening up that tight ring. His breathing hitches at each thrust of his fingers, and his member jerks up in response.

“Ngh, you enjoying the show? Admit it, Dimitri. You’ve been wanting to see me like this since Derdriu—no, since we were classmates, haven’t you?” he taunts as he works at himself, preparing the way for what was to come next. “When you touched at yourself at night… did you fantasize about me? Hm?”

Dimitri is too entranced by the performance before him that he almost forgets how to respond, but somehow his lips begin to move, breaking his silence.

“Y-yes… all the time,” he murmurs. “All the time, I’ve thought about you. Even back then, at the academy… I’ve imagined plunging into you, filling you up, _controlling_ you… y-you controlling _me._ Goddess, Claude, I fantasized about you grasping my neck, making me _submit_ to you, all of it.”

“I see,” Claude says, satisfied with his confession. He slides his fingers out of himself and hovers over Dimitri, lining himself up with his cock. 

“I’ll make sure all of that happens before I leave, then. But for tonight, I think I’ve decided what I’m gonna do,” Claude’s pitch drops to a husky range.

And with that, Claude descends upon Dimitri. Inch by inch, he takes Dimitri inside of him, enveloping him in a tight heat far beyond anything Dimitri’s imagination could muster up. He bites his lip and curls his toes, gripping the bedsheets even tighter—it’s all he can do to stay still.

Claude’s breathing quietens as he lowers himself so slowly, so _leisurely,_ without a care for Dimitri’s trembling restlessness underneath him. The hot stinging from being penetrated doesn’t even stop him from divulging his inner thoughts, doesn’t dam that vulgar stream of words from pouring out of his mouth. He’s _enjoying_ this—this authority, this domination—and Dimitri is happy to oblige.

“Ngh, that first time at Derdriu, as soon as I saw you, I knew I had struck gold. With that girth of yours, you’re perfect, Dimitri,” he slides down further, Dimitri halfway inside him now. _“Fuck,_ you’re so big. It’s almost criminal, almost sacrilegious that no one has ever used you, but maybe that just makes it all the more perfect. You’re a pure, spotless victim, and I’m the only one who can taint you.”

Claude gasps only with the slightest wince when he reaches the hilt of Dimitri’s length. Finally, he is completely sheathed within Claude, buried in his tight ass. “S-Shit, you feel so good. It’d still be just as pleasurable if you were only average, but _this,_ this is a blessing. Don’t you see, Dimitri? Your cock is a relic, deserving of worship solely by me.”

Dimitri’s thoughts, if any consciousness still remains in him, vanish before he can summon a response. All he can see, all he can think of is Claude: Claude above him, Claude around him, Claude arching into him, Claude clenching around him, Claude controlling him… Even if he wanted to grab his hips, thrust his cock upwards, _take control—_ at that moment, he couldn’t. Claude has shackled him with his words of praise and degradation. And he loves it.

Claude smirks and lifts himself, then slams back down.

Dimitri’s previous fantasies pale in comparison to the experience before him. It’s nothing like what he recalls from Derdriu, nothing like what his imagination can dream up—Claude’s eyes rolled back, head thrown back, cock hard and dripping with precum, riding him with the same prowess as it takes to ride a wyvern… it’s too much for him to not beg for.

 _“Mmmmm,_ Claude. Harder, _faster, please,”_ Dimitri finally pleads, breaking his silence. But the wyvern rider refuses to head him. Claude slides up and down Dimitri’s cock, setting his own tortuous pace—not too slow, but not fast enough to goad him. His hands steady himself on Dimitri’s chest, and his thighs flex, taut with muscle, snapping down onto Dimitri’s cock and then lifting him up again, so relentless and unforgiving.

Dimitri wants so badly to meet those thighs with his hips, to press up into Claude, but he restrains himself as best as he can. He holds still, he submits to Claude’s whims and authority and he thrills with every gasp of pleasure that slips from Claude’s lips.

 _“Ahhhh,_ you feel so full and warm inside me. Your cock was made this, Dimitri, honestly. Made for me and me alone to relish. You know, I ought to bring you back with me to Almyra, keep you in my bed and use you every night like this… maybe even keep you on a leash. I’ll make sure to take good care of you. Wouldn’t you like that, hm?”

It’s a tantalizing offer, and Claude’s silver tongue only seals the contract. His words entwined with lust and reassurance weave a fantasy where Dimitri’s will is replaced with Claude’s: himself, a slave to his impulses and desires, warming his bed, pleasing him, kneeling at his feet, begging for relief, having no other purpose or demand of him but to serve the Almyran king. Forget about his responsibilities. Forget about Fhirdiad. Forget about Fódlan. Forget about being king. Claude can take him wherever and whenever he pleases, and as long as he gets to be with him every day, it would all be worth it.

“Ngh, _Dima,”_ Claude whimpers under his breath as he hits that sweet spot in his tight heat.

…What? _Dima?_ No, he’s supposed to be Claude’s pet, a tool, a slave. _Dima_ isn’t a part of his role, a part of the game they’re supposed to be playing. But it’s that small crack in the pretense of control that Claude has set up that snaps Dimitri’s mind back to reality. 

_Dima._ A name only reserved for Claude’s lips, only for him to savor and cherish the way he curls around it, drinking it in like liquor. A simple sign of affection, calling him by his diminutive. Yet, the effect it has on him is nearly intoxicating. Dimitri immediately latches on to that weak point and drives his hips upwards. He has to hear it again: moaned, drawled, chanted, cried, wailed, _screamed._

“Say that again, Claude,” Dimitri growls as he slams his hips deep into Claude. The brunette howls, wide-eyed and dazed as he arches into him, his head thrown back, his cock leaking out even more precum.

_“Fuck, Dima.”_

_“Say it,”_ he snarls, thrusting upward into him again. 

_“Dimaaaaa.”_

“Again!” he barks. Another thrust. 

_“Dima. Dima! Dimaaaa!”_

That’s enough to break Dimitri free. He grabs Claude’s hips and starts pounding into him furiously. Sweat starts gleaming off Claude’s body, and his cock jerks and twitches with each thrust into him as he surrenders to Dimitri’s pace. His legs falter and his arms stop supporting him—the only reason why he doesn’t collapse is that the blonde is holding him in place, keeping him exactly where he wants him.

Claude begins wailing his name, moaning and pleading for more. But it’s not enough. Dimitri needs more than just names. He needs promises. He needs to know that even if he were to lose everything, even if he were to never see him again, even if he were to fall in battle, that as long as he is here in bed, underneath Claude von Riegan, then it is all he needs to strive for a more peaceful future.

“Show me that you want me. _Show_ me, Claude,” Dimitri hisses.

“I…” Claude pants, recognizing the desperation in Dimitri’s voice. It’s a plea for words beyond what they wrote in ink. _“Fuck,_ Dima. I love you inside me, fucking me senseless, pounding into me, rawing me, all of it! I love it so much. Forget about what I said. You’re not a slave, you’re not a tool, you’re Dima. My strong, sweet, loving Dima, and I _love_ you. I love having you here, so close, _so close!”_

Dimitri’s breathing hitches. Having Claude mindlessly praise him, overwhelming him with honest expressions of devotion arouses him in ways that he never knew could be possible. And now, reciprocating that love is all that he desires.

 _“All the time,_ Claude,” Dimitri moans. _“All the time,_ I’ve indulged myself at night at the thought of you. I missed this, I missed _you_ so much. Goddess, I love you, _Claude!”_

Dimitri hits a spot in Claude that sends him into a spiral, chanting ‘Dima, Dima’ with pure abandon. He lets out a drawn-out moan, clenching his cock even tighter as he begs him to go even faster. Dimitri’s mind is dazed by the reverence with which Claude moans his name, and he does everything he can to bring out more of it. He slams his hips upwards, harder and harder, yearning for more of that sweet pleasure, hoping to return that affection with which Claude weaves into his words. 

The two begin filling the room with wails and moans of ecstasy, names and confessions of love. Soon, Dimitri’s thrusts become erratic and his moans start shaking. Pleasure begins to gather and twist in him, pooling around the heat in his stomach. He can’t take it anymore. He tenses, he digs his nails into Claude’s hips, and the world goes white— 

The hunt is over.

 _“Claude!”_ Dimitri roars one last time. He cums hard, burying deep into Claude and filling him with his hot seed, groaning as waves of pleasure and euphoria surge through his cock. The archer follows suite, crying out, _“Dima!”_ as he feels his cock pulse and streams of bliss gushing out, painting Dimitri’s chest with white. He gives out one more groan before collapsing onto Dimitri, not caring for the mix of cum and sweat that decorate their chests.

The two lie there, languidly grinding against each other as they ride out the last few waves of pleasure. Claude nuzzles in the gap between Dimitri’s head and shoulders and gently kisses at the spot where he gave a hickey earlier. Dimitri chuckles and runs his hands through the brunette’s curls, kissing his head and rumbling in satisfaction.

Eventually, Claude slithers out of the blonde’s arms and grabs a towel from his bag, wiping them down then sliding back into Dimitri’s embrace. He pulls the sheets over them, and they relax there for an indefinite period of time, bathing in the warmth of each other’s presence and the flickering light of the fire.

Several possible sweet nothings that Dimitri could whisper into Claude’s ear race through his head, but Claude is the first to speak up, though his voice is strained.

“I love you, Dimitri. I want you to know this before I… well…” Claude gulps. “I meant to tell you this at Derdriu, but… I couldn’t work up the courage to do so. And I was afraid of how you’d react if you only read it in a letter. I’m sorry, Dimitri,” he sighs.

“For what?” Dimitri asks, unable to determine what Claude—his tender, loving, thoughtful Claude—could’ve possibly done wrong.

“I…” Claude hesitates for a few seconds before parting his lips. “At the Battle of Gronder Field… I could’ve saved you. I could’ve saved Rodrigue. All those people, they didn’t have to die. They didn’t have to _burn._ I didn’t have to fight you, Dimitri. We could’ve joined forces against Edelgard, against the Empire.”

Claude shakes his head. “But I was a selfish coward. When I saw you, for the first time in years, I… I was horrified. Horrified that the man I loved was lost forever. Even though Teach was with you, I wasn’t sure that he’d be able to bring you back. I _wanted_ to believe that you’d return, Dimitri. I _wanted_ to have faith in you. But I thought that if clung to that hope, let you win, then nothing would’ve stopped you from tearing Fódlan apart in a rampage. So I… I…”

Claude’s voice wavers, and he pauses to wipe his nose and sniffle. “I-I told myself that you were just a mindless beast. I convinced myself the only way to end the war quickly was… to end you. Put your soul to rest. I believed I _had_ to kill you. No, I believed you were already dead, and so I was justified. I thought I could _justify_ my actions, Dimitri. How could I have done that? We could’ve ended the battle much sooner—stop the needless deaths—if I hadn’t been so _blind,_ so blind in my lack of faith.”

A heavy silence falls in between them, interjected by Claude’s sniffling and whimpering. Dimitri opens and closes his mouth multiple times, struggling to find the right words to respond with. 

Shame? Pity? Compassion? Sorrow? Consolation? Forgiveness? Guilt? Several sentences run through his mind before he can muster the strength to part his lips.

“Claude, I’m… I’m honored by your confession. I…” Dimitri takes in a large breath. “The self that I was at Gronder Field, during those long five years of war, he is—no, _I_ am unforgivable. Claude, you only did what you thought was best for the future of Fódlan. You had your own people to protect, your own dreams to preserve. I don’t blame you for that, _nobody_ blames you for that. I do not wish to deny the person who I once was, and perhaps a part of that self still lingers within me, but I don’t want to see it lingering within your eyes. It’s all in the past now, after all. I’m here, you’re here, we’re alive.”

Dimitri wraps his arms around Claude, squeezing him tightly as if to remind himself that he’s real. He runs his hands through the brown curls, and the brunette's sniffling slows to quiet, steady breathing. He nudges his head against Dimitri’s hands, purring in response.

“…I think… the main reason why I fell in love with you at the academy was that…” Dimitri breathes hitches. “One night, I found myself wandering the monastery again, restless. But then, I saw you. You were lying there on the grass, looking up at the night sky. You invited me to lie next to you, don’t you remember? Being with you, in your arms… that was the first night when I had a restful sleep. And we continued that for a couple of months until… when I... when I discovered the Flame Emperor.”

Dimitri’s breathing begins shaking. “For nine long years, I’ve had the same nightmare. A nightmare in which I am constantly tormented by those who have died. They ask me why I have not avenged them… Why I got to live, yet they had to die. But no matter how many corpses I piled up for them, in the end, their voices only grew louder. Voices loathing me, calling out to me… Their inescapable death cries ringing in my ears… clinging to my soul. Even now, I can always hear them. But with you… their piercing wails become softer, pushing me forward instead of chaining me back.”

Dimitri reaches down to grasp Claude’s hand. “I know that I can’t force you to stay here, it would only be a selfish, unrealistic desire of mine… but if I were to wake up and see you beside me… then I’ll be okay. Please, Claude. Stay by my side, keep me in your heart. And when I sleep… please hold my hand and never let go.”

Claude grips Dimitri’s hand even tighter at the sound of his plea.

“Of course, Dimitri. In my mind, in my heart, I will always be holding your hand. But…” Claude cranes his neck so that he can gaze out the window into the starry night.

“I still have my dreams. I have to head back to Almyra. Once I ascend to the throne, I’ll be even busier than ever before. I have to convince the Almyrans to start working out a treaty with Fódlan, on top of the various duties I have towards my people. But, when I finalize it…” Claude gazes back at Dimitri, admiring his steel-blue eyes. 

“I want you to come to Almyra to sign it. Bring your friends, and mine, too, if you can. I’ll hold the world’s greatest feast for you guys, celebrating a new dawn for the future of Almyra and Fódlan. And, you and I, I want us to be a symbol of that future. Together. I love you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. With everything that I am. So please, wait for me. We’ll only be apart for a short while—a month or two, I promise.”

Claude looks at Dimitri with a gentle smile, and the blonde king can see the earnestness reflected in his eyes. It’s a rare sight to behold… the moon glowing behind him, the stars adorning the crown of silver light he wears on his head. It's only an ephemeral moment, but it's already a permanent portrait etched into his mind. A portrait of his beloved.

“But hey, it’s not like I’m leaving just yet. We still have several days to ourselves, Dima. And I want to make the most out of them,” Claude winks.

Dimitri chuckles and flicks his forehead. “As do I, Claude.”

They exchange a lazy kiss, and the savior king whispers, “I’m glad you’re home.”

One or two months… If it’s Claude von Riegan, then he can make it seem like an eternity.

Or a split second.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I dumped a bunch of dialogue there at the end.
> 
> I like how I originally planned to have dom!Dimitri/sub!Claude but as I started writing I immediately defaulted back to sub!Dimitri/dom!Claude. It's just the best dynamic ever *sighs*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the fic, and Merry Christmas!


End file.
